A Matter of Perspective
by SomeDrunkSheep
Summary: During a forced permission to the sunny South City, Miles was talked into buying something he would later regret - or so he had thought at that moment. LivMiles, M rated.
1. Part One - The Shop Window

A/N: Morning, morning! Noticing the complete lack of such *ahem* development between these two characters, I thought I could contribute a little. I mean, is it just me or Olivier is a bit of a femme-fatale, whereas Miles is like a pie? I don't know, but they just fit like a glove in this scenario, just saying.

Evidently, I don't own anything that is obvious and, per warnings, graphic situations and language. This contains normal sex, pegging and some good old fluff.

Anyway, Miles and Olivier Armstrong are fun to write and I hope they will be just as enjoyable to read. Thank you for checking out this story and I'd love to hear what you think of it!

But first things first...

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A Matter of Perspective, part one - The Shop Window

Rain was rapping monotonously against the window, droplets rolling lazily down the surface. They landed shyly on the sill, feeding the puddle that was forming underneath.

Miles pressed his forehead against the glass, rejoicing in its coolness. He has been boiling since he'd arrived there and finally, after five long days of agonising heat, the weather was finally paying a little attention to the poorly acclimatised officer.

Whoever thought of him as a warmth-loving kind of person just because of his ancestry was deadly mistaken. He's gotten so used to feeling frozen that it wasn't as easy as it should have been to accommodate such high temperatures. But he supposed that midsummer in the Southern Amestris could be taxing for anyone, not just for a Briggs Bear who'd spent most of his childhood in the desert. He should really have had a little more endurance, given the facts, but things didn't always work like they were supposed to.

Miles sighed, his hot breath tinting the cold glass. For some reason that still eluded him, he had asked for a permission a few weeks before, firmly convinced that no one would be mad enough to send him away anywhere during summer, when the blood started to boil in everyone's veins and so many problems occurred because of that. However, things in Briggs turned out to be running rather smoothly, if not a bit slow, and the terribly generous commander of the fort, the dear Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong, had considered his vacation idea to be absolutely marvellous. She had not only allowed him an entire week of leave, she had even insisted that he ought to go all the way to South City to see a bit of sun, maybe catch a tan since he's been looking a bit pale lately. Some scorching heat and skin-peeling rays would do him wonders, she assured him, so much better than the sun reflecting in the snow and the teeth-rattling winds of the North.

The woman went to such lengths that she even bought his train tickets personally. Miles knew from the start that she was making fun of him, but he kept his mouth shut and watched his superior officer sign his leave paperwork. He didn't know what he had done to anger her so badly to be sent to the South in the middle of summer, but he could play that game, too. When he would eventually return to the North, he would make sure to tell her how amazing he'd felt during his vacation and rub it all over face, just to spite her – that's what he would do, he thought, all be damned.

That is how Miles landed in a hotel room in the overly sunny South City. He could have easily jumped off the train and changed his destination for something breezier, but Armstrong cut his wings long before he'd left the military base – she would make sure he got where she had sent him and stayed there by simply calling him in the morning, at the precise hour of sunrise. She wouldn't say a word – just call and then hung up when he picked up the phone. Naturally, he'd have to say something to prove it was him, and he made it his personal mission to step on her nerves every time she called. She'd respond, alright, and what she said wasn't by any means nice, but they were both too stubborn to stop that nonsense and be civil to each other.

Why he'd put up with her madness and why he felt the need to return it in kind, he didn't have a pertinent answer to that, but he was adamant on showing Olivier that he could very well enjoy himself even if she was torturing him from afar. She was messing with the wrong person and she would soon realise it.

He pressed his cheek to the window. Even if the season has been warm in Briggs as well, nothing could be compared to the blazing inferno that passed as summer in the South. Miles has forgotten how hot a day could get, though he wasn't surprised – during the highest temperatures in the mountains, they still had to clad themselves in the entire uniform, complete with thick socks and woollen clothes. The sole luxury of summer was that they could forgo the heavy coats when they went outside, which was a lot considering the altitude.

He remembered the summers in Ishbal from when he was a child and all of his family was still alive. The civil war hasn't erupted yet in that distant memory, though there were many signs of a possible conflagration. Nevertheless, to a little boy like he'd been back then, those things didn't matter. He recalled his grandmother rubbing nice smelling oils over his skin to protect him from getting sunburns - he stood all day outside only in shorts and rarely did he wear a top. He spent hours and hours playing with the local children, from sunrise to sundown and sometimes more. He had been quite a solar child, loving to bask in the sun until he nearly fainted from dehydration or heat. However, his time in Briggs changed his adaptability. He still appreciated staying outdoors, loving the gentle breeze over his face and the sound of the earth beneath his feet, but he started to lose that crazed passion of burning his skin raw and sweating like a dog.

Now that he thought of it, South City was nothing like his grandfather's house in the East. In Ishbal, the heat was dry and breathable, but in the South, it was moist and absolutely unbearable. The weather was as unpredictable as it could get, rainstorms erupting out of nowhere, bringing unnatural amounts of moisture with them. Even if the desert sandstorms weren't exactly a maiden's dream, at least they weren't wet.

Anyway, before he would have to worry about any added humidity, he could very well enjoy the freshness of the summer rain.

He turned on his heels and finished buttoning up his brightly coloured shirt, decorated by an extensive flowery imprint. The quarter Ishbalan has always loved wearing colourful clothes, despite the evident fact that the uniform couldn't allow him more eccentricity than his hairstyle and much needed goggles. In vacations, he could put on whatever he fancied.

Humming softly, Miles brushed his long white locks and tied them in a tight bun, hoping it would make his hair less rigid when he untied it in the evening. He put on his goggles, thankful that, among all the downsides of his destination, there were good things in travelling to a sunny city – everyone wore shades and no one asked questions.

Armed with an umbrella he's forgotten in his bag – an object which was stolen from the Armstrong manor when he had to chaperone his commander to an endless family party and it rained like there would be no tomorrow when they left - he descended into the softening rain. It was getting lighter, the droplets tapping on the resistant fabric almost soothingly. Before he got to the central plaza, the rain has stopped completely and all that remained in its stead was a pleasant slant of wind that cooled down the atmosphere.

He might have been complaining about the temperature of the previous days, but that didn't stop the officer from doing his usual sightseeing. Everyone was melting on their feet around him, so he didn't stick out that much. He had earned that damned tan Armstrong has been babbling about, too, meaning he could successfully say he had accomplished his vacation's mandatory goal. Let that harpy make jokes about his paleness all she wanted – he could respond to that his own way.

He stopped at the first cafe that caught his eye and ordered a strong coffee to start his day. Its taste was exquisite on his tongue and he marked it as his favourite up until then. It had a nutty tone that he quickly associated with milk, so he promptly asked for a cappuccino to assess that assumption. As soon as he took the first sip, his mind was invaded with the blissful face Olivier made when he brought her coffee from wherever he went. He quickly asked if he could buy a pack of that blend, thinking she would appreciate it.

It might have been a vacation planned under strange circumstances, but he decided he could bring something for his commanding officer. Even inside his head, she was the commander, but he was partial to picturing the soft faces she made when they were alone, not that brutal mask she showed to the world. If all the mockery leaded to such peaceful moments like those in his mind, he could deal with whatever she came up with.

He muffled a sudden laugh by taking another sip from his coffee. He could easily imagine being sent South on the sole purpose of buying Olivier the blends he knew she would enjoy. The coffee in that part of the country was known for its quality, after all. She wouldn't be above that, but he guessed he could buy her some. Not because she awfully deserved it, more because he was feeling awfully kind these days.

He paid for his consumption and went out in the main road. He thought he could venture through different shops and look for something to bring to the guys from Briggs. Something flashy for Buccaneer, something to drink for the Doc and the engineering team, maybe some chocolates for those who entered the office. He always had sweets in the tin bowl on his desk and liked offering them to anyone who came to talk to him. That usually made his subordinates feel more at ease when the General next to him was glowering at them.

A little smile crept up his face, thinking that maybe some chocolate to chew on would make his commander shut up about the incapability of the Eastern troops, with whom they had just had a friendly exercise. That affair ended with certain classified agreements with Grumman and his entourage that made the blood in the Armstrong General seethe to the bursting point, something that had nothing to do with how disorganised she thought the Eastmen were – which they weren't, but it didn't do to say that in front of her.

He looked up at the cloudy sky. Perhaps he should be a little more respectful towards the Major General, since she was not only his superior but his girlfriend too, or, in the very least, that's what he considered her. Whatever they were to one another, that woman could be infuriating sometimes. Well, most of the times, but Miles had the patience of a rock when it came to her expansive behaviour. He loved her the way she was, totally unpredictable and slightly hysterical, even if she wasn't the easiest person to be with – Olivier was the kind you either worshipped like a madman or you hated to death and beyond. She knew her limitations well and she tended to listen to him when he tempered her, trusting him to let her know when she overstepped boundaries.

That might have been so on a usual day. In that situation, in spite of whatever power of conviction he held over her, he couldn't possibly imagine that stuffing her mouth with candy would make her any less verbal about the state of the army or what she thought about the higher command, because she could go on and on once the fuse was set. He'd have to muffle her mouth with so much more if he wanted to make her stop complaining.

That particular thought made him blush profusely. He hastily erased the image that was forming in his head and returned to making a list of things he should take for his colleagues.

Before he made any decisions, he entered a museum he's missed visiting that week. That took most of his day and what was left of it was spent on gift-chasing, especially for coffee. It was surprising how many took it for granted - people should see that thing they were having in Briggs, seriously, they would be more thankful for what they had.

With a sizeable amount of bags in one hand, the other inside his pocket, he made his way to a fruit shop he usually went to when Armstrong had business in the area and dragged him with her. It slightly surprised him that she didn't try to take a few days off too, but they couldn't always synchronise their leaves and because of that, Miles more often than not travelled alone. Olivier rarely took breaks anyway. She rarely left the fort without any official reason, if she left it at all. The soldiers usually made petitions to him to force their commander to take a vacation when she became too much to handle.

With those thoughts in his mind, he went down the familiar streets until they stopped looking like anything he had ever seen. He was in the good direction, though it appeared there had been some heavy renovations done in that neighbourhood. He shrugged and continued walking, making a mental map of the area to know how to return.

He counted the junctions and he finally found himself on the right street. He took a freshly squeezed fruit juice and slowly marched towards a route that looked interesting.

It was a rather obscure alleyway, filled with bars that had neon signs and liquor stores. He grinned, knowing where he would find something good for the Doc and the private stash in the office he shared with Olivier.

He didn't need to search too much for what he was looking for. He paid and returned to the main street. He went to the opposite direction to where he came from and as he walked, a pink sign made him stop in his tracks.

A smoking woman saw him looking at the window display and soon approached him. "You shouldn't be so shy, handsome," she told him as she extinguished her cigarette and pointed to the brightly branded shop she worked at.

Miles raised his unoccupied hand and waved it. "Ah, no, the sign's colour just blinded me, it's very... noticeable," he made, not knowing what to say. He felt a little confused by the skimpy dressed mannequins inside the display – they held some really strange whips and cuffs in their hands. He was an army man through and through, he was trained to see things that might bring harm such as those things, but he hasn't intended to stare.

"Nonsense," the woman brushed him off. "You know what? I think I have something just for you, handsome," she told him and went inside the shop, motioning for him to follow.

"I don't-" he started, but he couldn't see her anymore. He thought he should leave and pretend he wasn't approached by an erotic shop seller, but it would be rude not to tell her he really wasn't interested in any of her products.

His better nature won and he entered the shop. He instantly regretted that decision the moment he saw all sorts of weird phallic looking devices, some of their colours and shapes so strange he had to strain himself from gazing at them. Not every day did one get to see a yellow penis with random lumps painted in brilliant blue. His behaviour was understandable, he supposed.

"I'm sorry, but I really don't need anything," Miles said, but the woman was already rummaging through some boxes.

"You might not know it, but you do," she said from underneath the counter.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked indignant. He noticed some circular rings on a shelf and subtly read what was written under them. He quickly averted his gaze when he heard the shopkeeper shift, feeling something in him pang not exactly pleasantly.

What were all those torture instruments? For all his thirst for knowledge, he's never read that much about sex toys and the likes, but even without any informational support, he was suddenly afraid of them. Anyone who knew Olivier wouldn't trust her with anything that could maim someone for the obvious reasons and he dreaded the simple thought of restraining her in any way. He doubted he would live to see another day if he merely implied it to her and he didn't feel all that adventurous.

The woman chuckled and moved a big box to the side. "Nothing, handsome, why are you so tense? I think I know what to show you, but I don't want to take shots in the dark," she said and pointed a finger at him. "A fine looking bloke such as you is definitely hitched, m'right?"

He didn't know whether to feel insulted or flattered. He opened his mouth, but she got ahead of him. "No need to say a word, honey, I know you must be. I guess it's something without much fuss, hmm? I see no wedding ring on your finger, so you're not married," she went on. Miles tried to say something, but the obnoxious woman started talking again. "Wait, handsome, are you dating a woman or a man?" Her hands were making strange gestures and her face was quizzical.

Miles' brows shot up, not understanding where she was going with that. She replied before him, "Ah, woman it is then, let's see-"

"Wait a moment, Miss," he interjected. "I've only entered to say I don't want anything and I'm sorry for wasting your time, but I'm really not interested!"

"So you think the lady wouldn't like anything that you see here, mm? Okay then, I know exactly how you can blow her mind!" She quickly disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the shop.

"But I don't want to blow anyone's mind!" Miles protested and it was as good as talking to a wall. The woman returned with a black box, her smile wide. "You will thank me once you try this babe."

Miles sighed heavily. "Miss, I really- what the hell is that?" he asked, pointing to the now opened box. He looked better at the contents and felt his hair rise at the back of his neck.

"Aha, I knew you'd be hooked, handsome! I think the lady would appreciate it too, by the faces you're making!"

His eyes moved from the box to the woman, thinking how much he would eventually regret buying what she had suggested.

XXXXX

Olivier Armstrong swung on the burrowed chair, reading a boring report about wind shifts. It was once again a period of uneventful mountain patrols, so her men took it upon themselves to note down everything they've noticed to the tiniest detail, from the speed of the currents to how much snow has melted over the day. All in all, it wasn't a complete waste of time, because those apparently useless reports were used to predict weather. It just wasn't interesting to skim through long, interminable ramblings, even if they were needed for the safety of the fort and its occupants.

She jerked again, the chair rotating with her. She wondered why her office chair didn't spin and why Miles' did. It wasn't fair that her assistant had a cooler chair than her. She should do something about it.

Until she did anything, she could have fun with his chair. She has been spinning on it whenever her adjuvant was out of the fort – she guessed changing her boring seat could wait for a while longer.

She reclined on the backrest and propped her legs on the desk. She's had the office only for herself for almost a week. It was starting to get lonely and, quite honestly, sad. She somehow missed Miles' incessant babbling about this and that, it was too quiet with only her inside. There was no one to keep her calm when she started complaining about people's incompetence, but she guessed that the Major deserved a break from her.

Olivier knew that she had been particularly insufferable after the joined troops exercise, but she had many reasons to be. She felt something strange was happening with her country and she was insulted that she, as a high ranked officer, wasn't aware of anything, like she was being isolated by the higher command. Grumman had insisted they continued their tradition of joined training as a fair excuse for them to meet without drawing any unwanted attention. She understood their need to keep in contact, but that didn't make her any more ecstatic to work with Mustang and his merry crew. He was her friend, despite how little she liked admitting it, though that didn't mean she had to like helping that good-for-nothing idiot.

She crossed her legs and spun again. As soon as the seat faced the desk, she put the report down and grabbed another before the chair started another rotation.

Someone knocked at the door and she quickly stopped her goofiness. "Enter," she said loudly, her voice echoing strangely in the empty office.

The door was opened and the large figure of Buccaneer invaded the narrow entrance frame. He brought her a few yellow files and put them on her desk. "Sorry to interrupt, boss," he said and subtly pointed to her askew fringe, "I've brought you the reports from the weapon development department, like you've asked."

Olivier bent over the desk in pretence of looking at the folders, but what she did was to arrange her hair. All that spinning around disturbed it and she didn't need her men start questioning what she's been doing to get it like that. She needed to look professional, not like she had just gotten out of a merry-go-round.

Buccaneer, despite all his straight forwardness and lack of inhibition, was surprisingly attentive to her. He always appeared out of nowhere when she needed him and he looked after his commander as if she was his sister. He always took care of everyone and shadowed those who required his protection, but he had a soft spot for Olivier, who was like a surrogate family to him.

When she deemed herself ready, she looked up at the large man. "Is there anything else you wanted to tell me, Captain?"

"Aye, Sir, Major Miles has just returned."

"Send him here, then!" she said a little too harshly, but the Captain ignored her tone. He simply nodded and turned to the door to look for the Major. As he closed the door behind him, he saw his commandant jump from the chair she was seated on and change it for her usual one, rigidly standing by the wall.

Buccaneer had to chuckle a little at her fumbling. Armstrong had a strange way of showing affection and longing. She was the kind who would beat someone up to prove that she cared about them, but she had a good heart. Somewhere buried deep under sharp shards of ice, but it was still a good heart.

He ventured to Miles' room. He rapped at the door and opened it before he was answered. "The queen's requesting for you, mate," he said, making the quarter Ishbalan jolt. "What's with you?" Buccaneer asked a little concerned, but not too much. Everyone shivered when the General called them, but he suspected Miles did it for very different reasons than most.

"Ah, nothing, I just hoped I'd get to rest a little before I go. Is she still snappy from the training?"

Buccaneer grinned toothily and looked down at his automail arm. "What do you think?"

"Remind me, why do I still bother asking?" Miles muttered and shook his head. "I guess the sooner, the better, huh?"

"Mhm, I guess so," his friend encouraged him. "Look, if she gets a little too... excited to see you, I promise I will scrape you off the furniture and bury you somewhere nice."

"Thank you, that makes me feel better." Shaking his head, the Major opened his travelling bag from where he took out a little package and showed it to the Captain. "I found this for your collection, I thought you might like it."

Buccaneer accepted the box and opened it, his grin becoming so large it reached his ears. "Thanks a bunch, Miles, I didn't have the drum player!" he exclaimed and approached the little metallic figure to the ceiling illumination to have a better look at it. "Mate, this is so great, you've completed my band! Seriously, thanks a lot!"

"No problem," Miles made dismissively, knowing how much the big man loved those little sculptures. He wondered why everybody was so surprised that Buccaneer collected metal figures - he was bragging about his automail all day long. Why not cover his room with some more metal?

"Alright, I'll go see the General now. Wish me luck," Miles said tersely and they both exited the room. He locked the door and adjusted his goggles.

"Sure, break a leg, Major," Buccaneer replied airily.

The shorter officer looked up at him with a frown. "I really hope it won't be literally."

"You never know with the Ice Queen."

Miles shrugged. "Well, if I don't show up for dinner, you can start looking for that nice place to bury me."

Laughter rumbled next to him. "Don't worry, Sir, I've picked it a long time ago! Anyway, stop delaying it, or I will have to peel you off the walls for real."

Miles clicked his tongue and turned for the office. Behind him, Buccaneer whistled loudly. "By the way, Major, killer tan you've got there!"

In response, Miles raised his hand to the other soldier and waved him off, thinking that he might have sat too much in the sun. But he was proving a point there.

He walked the distance to the office and knocked at the door before entering. "Good afternoon, Sir," he saluted.

"Ah, I see you've returned a day earlier, Major. I believe your permission has been restful, am I correct?" Olivier asked, looking straight into his covered eyes. Miles noticed that his chair was a little inclined to the side, but he didn't comment on that.

"Plentifully restful, Sir, thank you," he replied politely.

"Ah, great, because you've got a good pile of work waiting with your name on it," she commented with a strange glint in her eyes. She pointed to the overflowing paper tray on his desk and Miles wanted to go and scream until that paperwork disappeared. He perfectly understood how Mustang felt when he saw how many reports he had to read, because he was feeling that way too. Cutting icicles was often more fun than doing paperwork.

"I'm looking forward to get to it."

Armstrong was enjoying his fallen face a bit too much. "Don't act too ecstatic, Miles, you might get more if I see you love it so much."

"I think I'll have to pass the offer, Sir, but thank you," he said hastily. "If I may be excused, I'd like to rest, the train travelling was tiring."

"Of course," she said, still staring at him. She admired the darkness of his skin against his bleached locks, enjoying the powerful contrast. She might have been a little selfish for making her adjuvant go South on his leave, when he could have chosen any other destination that he actually wanted to see, but she liked watching him after he was kissed by the sun and his dark skin gleamed with health. He looked so much better than when he was cooed up inside the electrically lit fort, which usually earned him a greyish hue that made him look sick.

Miles nodded at her. "Thank you. Have a good afternoon, Sir," he said and turned to the door. On an afterthought, he returned his gaze at her. "Pardon me for asking, but have you eaten anything today?" he demanded, his brows knitted together in concern.

"Why, Major, are you afraid I might get ill? Don't you worry, Buccaneer did a fine job on forcing me to eat and sleep. But I'd be careful if I were you, he might take your place when you're not paying attention."

"I'm convinced of that. Well, Sir, if you'll excuse me." With that, Miles left the room, reminding himself to thank the Captain for taking care of their commander while he was away.

XXXXX

Later that evening, Olivier found herself staring at the greyish ceiling. It was the only spot that wasn't occupied by anything in her room. Her walls were full of scotched drawings and nailed maps. Her personal desk was an utter mess. She thought she should make some order through the papers and books scattered over it, but as long as the frame containing her family's photograph was still visible, that unpleasant ordeal could wait.

She drummed her fingers against her thigh, bored to stay awake and do nothing. She didn't feel like reading anything or sketching in her notebook. She had been using her eyes enough, they needed some rest from papers and written words, and her hands started to twitch when she clenched her fists.

It might not have been the best idea to send the Major away for a whole week, but she needed to cool off without him. She had sent him as far as she could to make sure he returned when he ought to, not earlier like he sometimes did. He had only returned a day earlier, which was manageable. She needed some time to think alone, without having someone breathing down her back.

That didn't mean she didn't appreciate his attention, on the contrary, but her assistant was too good of a man to have to listen to her inner musings when he was so tired. He looked so much better than when he'd left, so Olivier concluded the little vacation did him good.

She looked at the large coffee package that stood on her nightstand. She took it with her to wrap some beans in satchels and put them between towels. Their smell always relaxed her, she was so thankful that Miles remembered to buy her some.

She looked at the burner and the kettle over it and set herself to brewing some coffee for her and her assistant. She could at least check out if he was sleeping and if he wasn't, they could share a cup or two. He could tell her what he's seen. He must have entered every gallery, shop and pub he'd found, he definitely had some interesting stories.

Olivier filled a tall thermos with coffee and wrapped a blue robe around herself. She was only wearing some nondescript pants and a shirt and the corridors were a bit chilly even in summer. She walked steadily, not encountering anyone on her short trip.

Just as she turned around the corner, she saw Buccaneer exiting Miles' room. "Sure, mate, that's a plan!" he said. "We'll show those new recruits what it means to be a Briggs Bear, alright," the larger man stated proudly.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Miles averted his friend. "Personally, I haven't sparred in a while and I have tons of work to do, so let's keep it amicable."

"Don't we always?"

"No, we never do," Miles retorted. Olivier saw him cross his arms over his chest.

"I'll see what I can do, Major, so your delicate body wouldn't be strained. You'll be able to sign papers after that, don't worry."

"Ta, what a relief! Goodnight, Buccaneer."

"Night, Sir!" the taller man boomed and left the stark corridor, heading for the personnel barracks.

She heard her assistant sigh profoundly. He kicked his door closed and Olivier waited a little while to make sure no one came her way. After a few minutes, she knocked at his door.

"Seriously, Buccaneer, what's- Oh, Major General," Miles said dumbly when he noticed it was his superior instead of the loud Captain. "Um, can I help you, Sir?"

"You could let me in, for starters," she suggested. "I've made coffee and I thought we could share it."

Miles nodded and backed off, allowing Olivier to enter his quarters, and then locked the door behind them.

His room was similar to hers, only that it was far better organised. He took the liberty to transform it into something that appeared mildly cosy, as much as anything military could get. He had separated what was dubbed as the 'bedroom' from the little makeshift study with a paper screen. The said 'study' consisted in a desk, a striped armchair, some misfit chairs and a tall foot lamp he requested for reading. In the back, he had his own bathroom with a working shower, the one thing he appreciated the most in his room. No one could witness nor interrupt his singing under the water when he bathed.

"Isn't it a bit too late for coffee, Sir?" he asked and showed Olivier to the desk which also worked as a table, because he didn't have one.

"It's never too late for coffee, Miles. You still have the day off tomorrow, you can stay up a bit later," she remarked. "Or are you too tired? Do you want me to leave?"

"No, it's fine," Miles replied at once. "I just thought you might have gone to bed already."

"At ten in the afternoon? Not even when I'm sick, I don't fall asleep that early," Olivier made scandalised. She took the two upturned mugs from the desk and poured some steaming coffee in them. "You've brought me some good smelling coffee, Major," she praised him. She stirred some sugar from a bowl in her coffee and took a large gulp, ignoring how hot it was. "Mhm, good stuff," she agreed and smacked her lips together.

Miles smiled at her. "Aren't you going to take your mug?" she asked him. He continued to smile and took the cup between his palms. "So, tell me about your trip," she requested.

He started talking about what he had done and seen. Olivier watched him intently and nodded from time to time, showing she was listening. Whenever she took another swallow of her drink, her eyes closed, soon opening to stare back at him.

With time, the intensity of her gaze increased. Miles tried to look composed, but he couldn't. The blonde was literally ogling at him and he couldn't look into her eyes anymore without having to blink continuously. He started regretting putting down his goggles, it was impossible to avert his gaze without her knowledge. His eyes were accidently caught by his travelling bag and they strayed in its direction frequently.

Obviously, Olivier noticed. "Miles, why are you looking so much at your luggage?" she interrupted him. "Is there something I shouldn't see?"

He gulped, remembering the strange box he had brought with him from the South City. He might have been fairly confident buying it, but in the present, he definitely wasn't. "It's nothing, I'm just a bit tired."

"Really, huh? Why didn't you say so when I've asked you?" Olivier smirked darkly and rose from her seat. She went straight to the bag and crouched next to it.

Miles thought that he should tell her to stop looking through his things, but he knew that he would be ignored. Just like he assumed she would do, Olivier rummaged through his bag. "You haven't unpacked until this hour, Major! Where's your discipline?" she teased. He didn't dignify that with an answer, he was too mortified to say anything.

Olivier pulled out a black box from the bottom of the bag. He really should start unpacking his things the moment he reached the fort - he always left everything in his travelling bag and it took him ages to take them out.

Unaware of Miles' inner turmoil, Olivier turned the box on each side. "What's this?" she inquired, measuring the rather large package. "Is this from some perfume or-" She opened the box and stopped talking. "What are you doing with this thing?" She snapped her head up to him.

The woman pulled out some strange looking straps and raised them to her eye level. She put them on the floor and looked at what remained in the box. "Um, Miles? What's a plastic dick doing in your bag?" she asked, lifting the black dildo and pointing its bulbous head at him.

Miles gaped at her like a fish. That was the same question he's been asking himself too, what a coincidence.

Olivier looked up from the device in her hand. "Why would you have these?" She placed the box on the floor, but she didn't let go of the rubber penis.

Miles thought he'd black out. He actually hoped he would, because he didn't know how to respond to that. Olivier got to her feet, but not before she had lifted the harness from the floor. "Don't stand there staring at me, dammit! I've asked you what you're doing with these. That's all I want to know." She was imagining all sorts of things, some of them that she didn't care to voice out.

"Well, you see..." he started and waved vaguely.

"I happen to see very well, thank you."

"That's not what I've meant," he snapped. After taking a deep breath, he told her about how he came into the possession of that strange device, all the time looking anywhere but at her. She started looking more relieved and something that resembled a smile was creeping up her face.

When he eventually finished, Olivier burst into laughter. "Oh Gods, you are a salesman's dream! Why on Earth would you buy that?" She was still chortling when she patted his shoulder, like she was consoling him. "You do realise you're not tying me anywhere, right?" She lifted the harness and waved it at him.

"It's not exactly for that," he whispered.

"Hm?" She opened the folded straps and took a better look at them. Her mouth turned into a circle. "Ah, pardon me. So, this is- Ah, I know what this is!" she made triumphantly. She turned it and looked at the large hoops at the base. "Aren't these a few sizes too big for you, you're quite slender for- whoa, wait a moment, is this for me? No way," she wolf-whistled. She raised her blue eyes at him, radiating with fake childishness. "Are you serious?"

Miles wasn't sure what he would do if she kept on making fun of him. He's made many bad choices in his life, why did she have to mock him for every single one of them?

Olivier chuckled and put the objects on the desk, next to the forgotten cups. She approached the chair that her partner seemed to try to catch roots on and sat on his lap, looking into his crimson eyes. "Don't make that face," she said and poked his cheeks. She smiled and closed the gap between them, getting closer to him until their lips touched.

Miles didn't exactly respond as sought - he just stood inertly and blinked dumbly, his vision foggy. Olivier gritted her teeth and punched him in the shoulder. "Tsk, did you get short-wired?"

He rapidly shook his head and looked at her. "Sorry, Olivier, I've told you it's a bit complicated-"

"Complicated? How come?"

"Well, um-"

"Tsk, spit it out already! You want me to fuck you or not?" Olivier asked gracelessly and crossed her arms. She leaned backwards, clenching her grip around his hips not to fall off. She watched him cringe and she couldn't help shaking her head disapprovingly. "Seriously, Miles, I think we've reached the age when we're considered adults, don't start telling me you've suddenly developed some sort of bleached imagination and pristine vocabulary."

"No, evidently not! All I'm saying is that I didn't exactly think it through."

"Really?" Her face was the epitome of innocence as she pressed her hands to his chest. "No shit!"

Miles scolded back at her. "As always, thank you for the note of confidence," he made sarcastically. He looked down and rapped his fingers on her hips, feeling his ears getting red. He wetted his lips and put her hands lower on his chest from where they originally were, uncomfortably close to his neck.

Olivier regarded him annoyed and Miles thought she might make him regret being born if he didn't make his case quickly. He squeezed her thigh to lengthen his agony until he found the right words. "We, um- we could try it, because you seemed to enjoy- well, you know what," he motioned largely, "and I know it's a bit strange, but it can't be that bad, right? I don't know if you'd like-"

"Like?" she made incredulous, almost in disbelief. She smacked their lips together, deciding he was just playing stupid. What woman in their right mind wouldn't want to take their man up their arse? Well, perhaps not so many, but she didn't exactly qualify as normal.

Miles shook out of his trance and returned the kiss, encircling her with his arms. She shifted and caught him firmly between her thighs. She opened her mouth and welcomed him deeper, their kiss getting more heated with each stroke of their tongues.

He fluidly lifted her up and she gripped his shoulder tightly, afraid he might drop her. She secured her legs around him as she was walked across the room to the edge of the bed, where he finally let go of her without much ceremony.

Olivier fell on her back, bouncing a little on the mattress. She pulled Miles over her and they returned to making out fervently, tightly clinging to each other. She rolled on top of him and pushed him on his back. She shrugged out of her robe and his hands immediately found the hem of her top, which he discarded swiftly. The blonde wasted no time to open her bra, casting it aside somewhere. She rose on her knees and lowered her pants and undergarments to her ankles, finally getting rid of them. "Undress," she ordered simply and returned to ravaging his mouth.

Miles fumbled under her, his movements limited by her position. He managed to open his shirt and awkwardly kicked off his pants and boxers. His legs did a strange movement and then he was finally naked.

"Mhm, much better," Olivier hummed in his ear and set herself to roaming her hands over his body. She felt his quickening pulse and bit hard on his collar, licking around the exposed flesh. He groaned and his arms shot down to her hips, where he grounded his fingers as her teeth grazed over his chest.

He caught her bottom and squeezed it to get her attention. "Get up," he said softly into her hair and pulled her higher, towards his upper body. "I want to taste you, come here," he said and his pupils suddenly grew larger, until his red eyes were almost black.

Oliver rose to her feet on the bed and looked down at him. She made small steps, each of her feet on the other side of him. She turned around and slowly kneeled, her face turned from him and eyes fixating his groin with a Cheshire grin.

Miles fluidly caught her hips and jerked her up to him, but he barely made any contact with her lower body before she plunged down. Like a cat, she swiftly grabbed his hardening cock and gave it a squeeze, lowering her head to leave a fluttering kiss on the top. His clenched hands lay her flat over his chest and eased her upwards.

Her mouth on his member disappeared as she was pulled up on him, their difference in heights suddenly evident. He bent as much as he could to accommodate the smaller woman and she looked behind her back to him, laughing. "Nice moves, Major!"

Not wanting to respond to her taunts, he merely departed her buttocks, allowing his fingers to wander over her slick lower lips. He stuck his tongue out and slowly drew a line from her clit to her clenching hole, where he dived in breathlessly. She gasped over him and grabbed his leg with a firm grip, keeping him steady as she opened her mouth to envelop his throbbing member.

Olivier closed her eyes in bliss and bobbed her head greedily, hollowing her cheeks with each powerful suck. She flattened her tongue under his length and opened her throat to take him in deeper, breathing in deeply not to accidently choke. The mouth on her cunt worked more fervently as her palms insinuated themselves between his legs.

She spread them apart slowly, almost unnoticeable, and slid her hand down to his balls. She played with them languidly, cupping and rolling them slowly, lazily, enjoying the warmth of the flesh. Her mouth opened and his cock slid out, trailing across her cheek and landing wetly on his stomach. Olivier blew hot air over the sensitive skin and left moist kisses on the inside of his thighs, tongue slowly drawing repetitive patterns. Confidently, the blonde woman bit his right buttock and circled the area with the tips of her fingers, rubbing and pinching the skin until it was brilliant red.

She heard Miles taking in a sharp breath as she got closer to his rear, making her halt any movement. He stopped as well, his mouth leaving her lower muscles clenching with abandon, missing the tongue and fingers that were spreading them open and invading their tightness so perfectly right. He bent his knees, signalling for her to get up.

Olivier did get up, but she didn't turn to look at him. She jumped off the bed and padded to the small desk, her back turned ostentatiously to him. She took the harness and the detachable dildo and threw them back, hitting Miles straight into the face with them.

"You're a doll, you know," he stuttered as he put the objects aside, startled by the flying rubber dick and its confines. Olivier let out a breathy chuckle and walked to the discarded bag on the floor, bending to rummage through it. "Of course I am," she replied breezily, searching through the insides of the luggage.

Miles watched her with interest, partly because she was offering quite the unveiled image bending down with her back right at him, but also because he didn't know what she was looking for. Somehow, his curiosity won out and he started gazing solely at the bag.

His commanding officer must have been able to read his mind, because she swiftly kneeled, hiding whatever modesty she had left, and turned her head to him. "Keep making those clueless faces and I'm leaving," she averted and returned to her task.

Miles rotated towards the foot of the bed and rolled on his stomach, placing his head in his palms. "What are you looking for?" he asked her, watching how she threw out his clothing from the bag. "Is this a way of telling me I should unpack? I would have done it eventually!"

Olivier got to her feet victoriously and turned on her heels, holding up a small bottle for him to see. "You didn't think it through, huh? So what are you doing with this?" she made and threw the lubricant to his head. Miles ducked and the bottle flew over him, accompanied by the Major General, who plopped next to him on the mattress. She grabbed his ponytail, forcing him to prop himself on his elbows and she kissed him messily, biting his lips and coaxing him to stand up.

Miles hummed around their mouths and sneaked his arms around her waist. He pulled her on top of him and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. She blinked, feeling more naked than she already was under his heavy gaze. To break the intense lock, she reached for the bottle of lubricant she has thrown across the bed. The blonde opened the cap and sniffed the subtly scented liquid. Her blue eyes were sincere in front of his, watching him with unguarded fragility. "Are you sure about this?"

"No," he replied and shrugged.

"Sounds fair to me," she said and nudged him to open his legs. He silently watched her pour the clear liquid on her hand and lowered it to his bottom, where the tip of her fingers touched him a little shyly. He flinched due to the coolness of the lubricant, but he didn't say a word, opting to wait patiently for her to make up her mind.

Bold digits encircled his entrance and one even dared to break into the tight ring of muscles, which clenched at the intrusion. Miles' neck bended backwards and his head hit the mattress as she bravely pushed one single finger inside him. Olivier's mouth soon found his slightly deflating cock, not awfully interested by what was happening to its owner. The Ishbalan drew deep, steadying breaths, his eyes shut and an arm over his forehead.

She looked up and saw him. She wanted to leave what she was doing and ask him if he was okay, because he definitely didn't look so, but he opened his legs wider and motioned for her to continue. Olivier closed her eyes and casually took his length down to the base, while her finger prodded into the slowly relaxing hole.

Impatiently, she added another finger and the resistance she got was surprisingly little, so she kept up her pace. She left his cock and went up his body to kiss him, another digit entering him as her tongue conquered his mouth.

Miles groaned throatily and grabbed her hair, twisting it around his fist. She slapped his hip with her free hand and took out the other, leaving him spread open and panting.

The strange intrusion has made Miles dizzy, his senses drunk on the overwhelming sensation. He wanted those damned fingers away from him and at the same time, he wanted them more, somewhere deeper and better. He felt so open and honest in front of his lover, with his body pulsing madly for something more of that sweet torture she administered so readily. He should have felt violated instead, but when he opened his eyes and saw her tying the intricate leather harness and then carefully coating the stiff appendage at its front with an important amount of lubrication, he remembered she would never do anything to harm him and that was another reason why he loved her.

Their gazes met and Olivier smiled a little. "I think it'd be better if you got on your knees," she suggested. He nodded and turned with his back to her. The cold fingers returned to his rear and dived in a few more times, making him gasp. It wasn't very comfortable, but he was starting to get accustomed to it. He felt slightly abandoned when the fingers disappeared.

Miles' eyes budged out and he buried his face in the pillows when he felt something much larger breaching into the still tight ring of muscles. The phallus moved forward, spreading him apart in its unnatural direction. His breath quickened and he fisted the sheets as the rubber cock revealed all its length inside him and Olivier's stomach was pressed against his back. "That's a sight to behold," she said appraisingly, looking at their joined bodies, and slapped him playfully on the right bottom cheek. "Are you okay?"

Miles lifted his arm and waved vaguely, not trusting his voice. He didn't know whether he was alright or not because those shivers creeping up his spine were like nothing he has ever felt before.

Olivier interpreted his wave as an affirmative answer and withdrew slowly, pushing back inside with a little more enthusiasm than before.

Why the woman assumed that Miles would suddenly feel relaxed around a plastic dick sticking into his arse, it escaped him, but he didn't comment. The thrusts, slightly snappy and irregular at their inception, were getting steadier and better paced, though it was still uncomfortable. All that he registered was some dull pain and an eerie stretching, nothing more.

Those were his thoughts before something in him exploded and everything started to feel more intense than ever. Olivier, in all her fumbling, has hit his prostate and everything around Miles stopped existing, just that powerful buzz in his ears and the quivering of his stomach still made some sense to him.

Deeply pleased by the noises she was getting, Olivier moaned above him, finding a good rhythm that made the straps rub against her throbbing need. She grabbed his hip tighter and imitated what he would do to her, pounding inside him harder, trying to hit the same spot as before. Miles groaned, the words coming out of his mouth incomprehensibly, and he started welcoming each of her thrust, pushing back to meet her faster and deeper than before, shifting to catch up with her.

He let out a strangled shout when her hand found his stiff cock, so much harder than ever. "You sure like this," she commented between shaky breaths, her hips aching but unfaltering in their determined pace. She couldn't stop, not when her man was so vocal about what she did to him. He never made such noises, ever - they were music to her ears and she wanted more of that.

Olivier leaned forward, her fingers clawing into his hips. She kissed him between his shoulder blades and rested her forehead there. Her grip on his cock tightened and her thrust became shorter, deeper and faster, struggling to please.

Miles' breath came out unevenly and high-pitched at the end, encouraging her to continue. His head was swimming with each rock of their hips and all he could do was chase after her body, to retain the sensations she was delivering for a bit longer. He moaned and grunted, unable to form anything coherent, until it all transformed into haze and his muscles clenched and hips stuttered.

Oliver got out of him swiftly and rolled him on his back. He didn't register that, it was all in a blur when she moved the straps to the side and lowered herself on his weeping cock. She shivered and started moving up and down his length, both of them so wet the friction didn't exist. The tip of his hard member impaled her insides and he grabbed her, bounced her over his length fervently.

His cavernous grunts echoed around the room as he came powerfully. Like a whisper, he heard Olivier scream her climax over him, covering him with her hot release. She collapsed on his chest and they looked at each other, panting and blinking stupidly.

With shaky hands, Olivier unclasped the straps around her legs, wincing as she leather dug out from her skin. She slowly dismounted him and freed herself from the harness, cum sliding down her leg as she stretched a little. She tossed the toys aside and kissed Miles tenderly, revelling in his scent and trembling embrace.

Miles rolled them around, so he would be on top of her, but his knees gave out under him. He landed over her torso and she started laughing cheerily, tangling her fingers in his hair. "You are such a slut, Miles," she said good-naturedly and stroked his white locks fondly. She tugged the loose strands behind his ear and left a few chaste kisses along his jaw line. "You looked good like that, on your knees and mauling. You're a wonder to one's ego."

Miles blushed deeply and poked her cheek with his nose. "That's a bit far-fetched, I didn't maul."

"If you don't believe me, I'm going to record you the next time and put you on the fort's station. You can ask the others what they think about it," Olivier said with a great grin. "I should have you photographed and put you on the fort's walls, you'd increase the men's productivity by a hundred percent, at least!"

"Olivier!" he exclaimed.

"Mhm, you're right," she agreed frowning, "I'd personally slice anyone who'd look at those pictures."

"Olivier, stop right there," Miles put a palm over her mouth. "There's absolutely no need for anything like that, but I'm glad you enjoyed it."

She bit his hand to let herself speak. "Don't give me that, Mister, you liked it too," she said and traced her wet fingers over his face, smearing his chin and lips with their spent. "See? I think you liked it quite well!"

Miles chuckled and captured her wandering digit inside his mouth, sucking lightly on it. Olivier smirked and kissed him again. She pushed him aside and nestled on his chest, peppering small, loving pecks over it.

Miles smiled and stroked her hair. He placed a small kiss on top of her head. He felt surprisingly tired, but he guessed it was due to the long train trip from that day. Olivier, on top of his chest, looked ready to doze off from the vigorous physical exercise, so he guessed it was time for them to retire for the night.

He caught the blanket with his toes and jerked it upwards. He covered them both and circled his arms around his queen, deciding to overlook that the lights were evidently opened and shining right into his eyes. He should have shut them, but he didn't have it in him to get up and go to the switch. He wasn't even sure he would be able to get up, because his rear was protesting with each of his movement.

He kissed her hair one more time and closed his eyes, counting how many hours they would have until she would eventually have to go to her own room. That would have to be quite soon, because the days started early at the fort and people could see her sneaking out, but he could enjoy that little peace while it lasted.

Olivier smirked pleased, shifting more comfortable over him. "Remind me to look for that nice woman who made you buy that shit and thank her in person."

"Go to sleep, Olive, and stop speaking stupid things."

"Nonsense," she made drowsily, her eyelids heavy and voice small. "I'll give you more permissions if you return with stuff like this from them," she added and lowered her hand to his now fairly placid cock. He caught her wrist and put her arm back next to his.

"Stop talking and close your eyes," Miles whispered in her ear. He heard her grumble, but she put her head back on his chest. All was silent for a moment, before she kissed his collar. "Thanks for the - you know," she said.

"Mhm."

"Sorry for snapping at you lately," she added on a second thought. She looked up at him and she saw Miles open his eyes with surprise. "I think it's time to go to sleep, you're right," she blurted hastily. She needed to shut up before she started being too sappy. He was the kind and romantic one, not her. She shouldn't steal his spotlight.

Miles nodded. "Please do, you're turning into a nice person and we can't have that."

Olivier shivered and childishly closed her eyes, like that would hide her from the world. He chuckled, the sound in his chest reverberating inside her ears, and he hugged her tighter. "Goodnight, my love," Miles said in a shushed voice.

"Mhm," she hummed and entangled her fingers in his. She squeezed his hand and moved it to her chest, closing her eyes when his skin brushed over her breast. She smiled and snuggled closer to his neck. "Goodnight to you, too."

XXXXX

"Major! Major, wait!" Buccaneer shouted after him. "We were supposed to spar today, where are you going?"

Miles felt his nerves snap and his back scream for about the same reason. As much as he had felt good during the previous night, just as much his lower body ached the following day. He had no idea how he had dragged himself out of bed that morning, perhaps because the Major General started shouting at him that he should clean up his room – not that hers was any tidier, she just didn't stand seeing someone sleeping when she had to get up at an ungodly hour – but he was sure that nothing in him would resist a fight, be it just demonstrative, against the bear of a man that was Buccaneer. He enjoyed being able to walk on his own two feet and not on crutches, and fighting him in his state would definitely result in serious injuries.

"Sir, I've been running after you the entire day!" Buccaneer made indignantly, the bow in his braid swinging as he motioned frantically.

"Pardon me, Captain, I had places to be," Miles replied apologetically and started walking slowly, wanting to flee as gallantly as he could without stumbling. His hips balanced a little too much and he jumped a bit with each step, but he hoped it wasn't as visible as he imagined it. "I'm not sure we'll be able to do it today," he added and struggled to walk perfectly straight, more so than usual, with a faint pain shooting up his spine.

Buccaneer's eyes widened comically and his hands shot up in the air. "No way, Sir! What happened to your team spirit? Is there something wrong? Are you sick?"

"Ah, no, what makes you say that?"

The Captain shrugged. "I don't know, Sir, you've behaved funny since breakfast and you walk a bit strange, but it might be just me," he said doubtfully. "Are you hurt?"

Suddenly, Miles was thankful for his newly acquired tan, because he could feel himself getting terribly red and it masked that a little. He lowered his head between his shoulders and shook his head. "I'm alright, I've simply slid on a slippery stair, nothing much," he retorted casually.

"That's a nasty thing, Sir, you should be more careful! I heard of people who've fallen like that and couldn't walk anymore, it's nothing to joke about! But you can walk, right?"

"Err, obviously."

"Then why not try a bit of exercise? It helps a lot with the pain, my sister always twisted her ankles, she's got two left feet, you see, and she kept on running so it wouldn't hurt anymore. You can try it too!"

At that, Miles didn't have a good answer to get out of that situation. According to the other officer, he'd have to repeat whatever had caused his pain or at least strain the aching area, but that particular reasoning made him a little flustered – something he really didn't need if he were to spar in front of a crowd.

He had to find a plausible way out of his promise.

As if fate finally took pity on him, sure steps approached them. "There you were, Major," Armstrong made displeased, appearing behind the officers. "Where are the formularies from the transfers? Captain, I don't like seeing you holding my assistant from working," she scolded and Buccaneer visibly shrunk under her scrutiny. "Did you two become fond of cutting icicles?" he asked them. They looked at each other and shook their heads. "Tsk, I thought so," she said and waved at Miles to follow her. "You'd better make yourself useful, Buccaneer, before I make you be useful somewhere you wouldn't like it."

"Yes, Sir!" the Captain shouted and saluted her stiffly.

Miles followed her in a stroll, walking a little strained, but thankfully free of anything that would render him completely useless. "Thanks a lot," he said and fell into her steps.

"Don't thank me yet, Major," she replied dangerously. "I still want my formularies checked, and I think I want them today, not tomorrow."

Miles sighed and followed her to the office, his vacation officially over – a day sooner, at that. At least he wouldn't make a mess of himself in front of the soldiers.

"By the way, Major," Olivier told him as they walked together, "Buccaneer's right, you should be more careful. Falling down the stairs is a nasty business, indeed," she said with a smirk and strode in front of him, her long blonde hair swinging about her.

Miles grunted something and clasped his hands behind his back, once again questioning his choices.

From the end of the corridor, Buccaneer looked at the two departing officers who were just turning around the corner. "Didn't Miles have today off, too?" he asked himself and scratched his neck, mentally replaying the conversation he had with the Major the previous night. He shrugged and left to continue his duties for the day – it wasn't his place to question his superiors' decisions.

However, knowing his said superiors, the Captain thought he didn't want to know the answer to his dilemma all that much. He could live without knowing things from their perspective.

All in all, he enjoyed his limited view.

* * *

A/N: Ta-ta, that was that! Please tell me what you think of this and thank you for reading! In case you're interested in what else I've written, please check my profile. Thank you very much for the support!

Until the next time, bye-bye!


	2. Part Two - The Talking Ladies

A/N: Morning! I was looking a bit over the previous part and it struck me how it was a bit tame at times - well, at least to me. I wanted to rectify that with a continuation (also because these two are so fun to write), which I very much hope you will enjoy. This has the same warnings and disclaimer, evidently.

Thank you very much for reading and please, let me know what you think!

That being said, let us delve into the heart of the matter...

* * *

A Matter of Perspective, part 2 – The Talking Ladies

"Tsk, and they call this shit winter," Olivier Mira Armstrong spat dejectedly as she threw her gloves somewhere on the bed. She shrugged out of her dark overcoat, which she discarded on the nearest chair. With a heavy sigh, she plopped backwards on the mattress and bounced a little on it, its springs tensing and groaning under her weight.

The sheets underneath her were getting wet from the drizzling rain that has been following her like a particularly infuriating ghost – not that Olivier would ever find those phantasms terrifying or at least mildly relevant. She had seen real horrors - ghosts, ghouls or whatever people were afraid of would turn out to be one tasteless joke if they decided to pop up to say hello to her. They'd probably be scared by her, anyway.

Said rain soaked her to the bone and she was starting to shiver, so she guessed that it was a time just as good as any to change from her drenched clothes into something warmer and to do something better than strolling in the rain. Something that had to do with the great indoors, which, in her humble opinion, sounded much better than the water-pissing outdoors.

Olivier continued to sigh as she rose from the bed and then got up to her feet. She admired her work of art over the sheets that have turned grey from her sodden clothes. "Ah, fucking hell," she cursed and put her hands on her hips. She immediately regretted that, because her moist uniform pants started clinging to her hips and it felt so disgusting to peel them off her body.

She took her clothes off with a look of annoyance deeply etched in her features. It wasn't a pleasant ordeal to have to unglue layers after layers of thick fabrics which have decided that they very much preferred staying wrapped around her rather than drying off somewhere else. With a great deal of unneeded effort, the officer managed to get out of her uniform coat and shirt and then she opened her brassiere, its wired cups leaving angry marks under her breasts. The rashes stung her, but she swallowed up her discomfort when she bowed to untie her shoelaces and finally kick the boots out of her feet to dry.

The rest of her clothes soon found their counterparts on the floor, all gathered up in a soggy pile. The woman hugged herself and rubbed her sides harshly, the friction warming her up while she padded to the bathroom, leaving a damp trail behind her.

During the past few days, the Major General has been revelling in the wonders of a proper Western Amestris winter – cold rains and bone-chilling winds all day long. She wasn't a huge fan of staying out while it was snowing as heavily as it usually did in Briggs, but that damned weather surpassed all limits. It was simply outrageous. West City was, at the moment, the lousiest place to be in the whole country and she, because of her marvellous job as a commander, was stuck in it for the duration of an interminable congress.

Even if she despised the lengthy meetings, they sounded much brighter compared to the forecast. That weather was the kind one had to share with someone, because it was just that pathetic. Yet she was all alone in there and she had no one to complain to about the rain and muddy puddles.

For the first time since he's been assigned to the fort, Miles, her trusted adjuvant, couldn't chaperone her to a summit. He always followed her wherever she went because he was her assistant and that was one of his attributions, however, that singular time, he just couldn't come with her. They had mounts and mounts of work to do – much grander than the Briggs Mountains themselves – and, as the second-in-command, the Major had to answer to another request from his duty roll - supervising whatever had to be done and participating into finishing it, evidently. As much as he would have given up his arm to escape tedious amounts of paperwork and reports that always rushed in at the end of each year, he remained at the office instead of her.

Olivier submerged under the shower, hot water hitting her face and trailing down her body, heating her after the cold rain she had to endure on her way to the hotel room. She washed herself almost vengefully, like she wanted to take off her skin, frustrated that she had to go through those stupid meetings when she was needed elsewhere. She had better things to do than listening to aging idiots that rotted on their arses in their high chairs, talking nonsense and demanding blood for no reasons at all. The country needed proper leaders, she thought as she patted herself with a towel. She took another one and wrapped it around her wet hair, the other being tossed on the drying rack without a glance.

Naked, she walked to her travelling bag and took out a dark pair of pants and a blue-striped shirt, along with dry undergarments. After she was dressed, she turned to look at her sodden uniform, carelessly forgotten on the floor. She was thankful that she didn't have to wash it and she could just let it dry as it was – the seemingly unending meetings had finally reached their climax that day and she wouldn't have to wear it before she got back to the fort, where she had her other clean uniforms.

Naturally, she had a spare outfit with her, because she wouldn't go anywhere unprepared, and by all means, she didn't like to know that any of her attires weren't in top condition. At least that was the case with the uniforms she had at Briggs, which have been chosen with very much care to fit all of her and not to squeeze her like a sausage – mind you, hand-picked by her poor assistant who had to rummage through ceiling-high piles of blue coats and pants to find her right size because she didn't deem that task worthy of her time.

Now that she didn't have to wear either of the two that she has taken with her, they could very well burn, because she'd accidentally packed the ones that didn't close properly on her chest and she had to sit slightly bended so the coat's buttons wouldn't pop and take someone's eyes out. She only kept the ill-fitted tops because they usually spared her of any unwanted interactions with other officers at the mandatory parties she had to attend from time to time – most of the guests were men and far more interested in marvelling at her chest than talking to her when she wore them, which suited her just fine, as long as she didn't have anything to do with those speaking pigs and she could flee from the gatherings faster.

Armstrong settled with placing the drenched uniform pieces on individual hampers and let them sear on their own accord. Being done with that part, she turned to the sheets and scolded herself for soaking them, and probably the mattress underneath, too. She might have to sleep on the couch because of that. She could have asked for the hotel keepers to change them, but she didn't feel like doing it.

She took her book from the nightstand and sat on the cushy armchair by the window, opening the novel where she has left it the other night. She idly let the time pass, reading and listening to the rapping of the rain against the glass.

The pouring must have stopped, she noticed eventually, because the buzz in her peripheral had ceased. It was strangely quiet in the peach coloured room, too big to accommodate only one person. She didn't have to share it with anyone and she was grateful for that, but she didn't like sleeping in such large spaces that somehow seemed deserted. Though it could have been fully furnished to the point no one could go inside, it would still have felt empty to her.

Uneasily, she realised that the only thing that has kept her sane in that delegation has been the rain. Its monotonous tapping has made her feel safe in her lonely room, far away from her cold home in the North.

She loathed travelling alone, without her constant companion. Admittedly, Miles could get absolutely infuriating when he deemed that she was bored or maybe just a little under the weather, but she wouldn't have minded a bit of that annoyance. He would have probably started ripping pages from the telephone book and crumple them into small balls which he would have thrown at her. Or perhaps he would have put his pointy chin on her shoulder and read loudly in her ear, mindful to get ahead of her or to start from the middle of the page just to unnerve her.

Maybe he would have sat on the armrest of her chair and brushed her hair until it started to shine. He would have braided it and put ribbons in it, kissing each bow before he fastened it. He always seemed to have ribbons with him, all colours and sizes, ready to be tied in her golden locks.

Olivier closed the book with a smile. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but she loved those little gestures that took her mind off her problems, that sought to soothe her and ail her pains. She missed him, all of him, with those endless talks he always seemed to start only when she was on the verge of falling asleep and his gentle embraces when she started to thrash around in her troubled slumber.

She clicked her tongue on her teeth and got up from the armchair. She didn't like thinking like that, she didn't like feeling weak and in need of company.

It was her last night in the West and she wasn't going to spend it in her room, sulking by the window and dreaming about colourful ribbons. She went to the mirror and looked at her reflection, blank and tired. She sat down on the little stool at her feet. Her hair has dried over the hours she has spent reading, so she brushed it, not gently, but purposefully. She pulled it back and twisted it in a thick bun, secured behind her head by a red tie she had snatched from Miles' infinite pile on one distant morning. He hasn't noticed it was missing, and if he had, he hasn't said a word about it.

She took her other coat from the rack, the one that didn't have any stars and tresses on its shoulders, and wrapped a luxuriant silver fox neckpiece around her neck. She liked that collar, not because it has been a ridiculously priced gift from her parents, but because it reminded her of Briggs and its heavy coats trimmed with fur.

Olivier made sure she had her identification papers and her wallet in her pockets and then stormed out of the room. She went unnoticed by the reception, skilfully avoiding being seen. No one needed to know she went out, that was one of the reasons why she had tied her hair in the first place. For some reason, very few recognised her if she pulled her fringe away from her eyes and styled her locks.

She pushed her hands inside her pockets and started walking aimlessly. After a bit of wandering, she entered a lavish pub, one that she would have never considered if she hadn't noticed the shiny handles of the barrels of beer going under the counter. Those looked enticing enough to Olivier, never mind those nicely polished tables and shiny stools.

One of the bartenders looked her over with an unveiled smirk, his eyes sparkling at her sight. "What can I offer you, my dear?" he asked, putting his elbows on the counter and gazing into her blue eyes. Olivier was aware she wasn't terrible to look at, but she didn't need some barman to ogle her. "Would you perhaps entertain a glass of our finest champagne, or maybe of a wine just as sweet as you?" he continued with a smile.

She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from lashing out. That beer sounded too good to get herself kicked out of the bar just because of her big mouth and little tolerance to mindless flirts. "What beer would you recommend?" she said instead.

The man blinked, surprised by her choice. "We have a light-"

"Not light," she interjected, already getting tired of his approach. That's why she hated nice looking places - everyone took her as some feathery woman who couldn't hold her drinks. Real pubs with real drinkers had real bartenders who knew just by the look of her what she really wanted. Here, it all seemed faked.

She leaned over the counter and fixed the eyes of the man behind it, the honest colour of her gaze betraying her short temper. "I want something dark and potent," she demanded with certainty in her voice, clearly dismissing any advances the man would have dared to make on her. Her choice of words made her a little flushed for the obvious reason – it seemed her mouth went ahead of her mind and listened to what her subconscious was telling her she actually needed, and that was not something white and scrawny like the bartender-, but her determination didn't elapse.

He gulped, visibly startled by her intensity. Olivier drummed her knuckles on the wooden counter, waking him up from his reverie. "Yes, we have the best dark beer in this city," he assured her.

"I'll be the judge of that," she replied with a dangerous tilt of her full lips. She painted them red and she wore bolder dark lines around her eyes, all in hope that no one would recognise her in case she accidentally bumped into someone who knew her. Not that there were many brave enough to salute her – people usually cowered away from her.

The bartender poured the dark brown beer in a tall glass, the liquid seeming almost black under the foam at the top. She nodded approvingly. "And I'd like some cigars, the finest cut you have."

"I didn't take you as one who would smoke, not to mention cigars," the barman purred as he was pulling up a large, flat box.

She snorted. "Dear, you can keep those comments to yourself. I'm not the kind of woman you'd want to get involved with, even it was just one time, after a shift. Trust me," Olivier said with a little smirk. "How much do I owe you?" she asked kindly and paid for her order.

"Wave me if you need anything," the bartender called after her, looking with chagrin at her coat, its bottom margin floating around her ankles. She motioned her hand dismissively and went to one of the more secluded tables in the corner of the pub.

She took a swallow from her beverage and smiled. That man wasn't all that full of bullshit - he knew that what he served was good. She drank it like it was water and put the glass down with a low clink. She fished for the matches she was sure she has forgotten somewhere in her pockets, but a flickering flame rose under her eyes.

Her bartender appeared in front of her with a lighter and a new glass of beer. "I thought you might need these."

"Hmm, I sure do," she retorted and put the cigar dangling from her mouth over the flame, lighting it. She puffed it to get it started, then took a drag out of it. She leaned back to look for her wallet, but the man raised his hand.

"It's on me, Miss," he said.

"This one or-"

"Whatever you're drinking tonight from now on."

"Are you sure? I don't joke around with drinking nor with anything I do, you might end up spending all your payment for a few months if you're not careful."

"I will take the risk," he made, smiling.

Olivier tilted her head and her eyes narrowed. "Mate, I hope you do understand that I'm not interested-"

"Please," he interrupted her. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "I don't see many proper drinkers in here, especially women. They're all classy and sweet, but they don't know what they're doing. I work here only because they pay me well, you see," he explained. "It's really refreshing to see someone who knows what they're doing, and I don't mean to disrespect," he added in case he had insulted her by accident.

"If that's so," she replied as she blew smoke over his face, "Let's have a deal. I pay for what I drink now and you can give me a glass or two on you after you finish your work. But nothing more than that."

The bartender grinned at her and nodded. "Let me get you some pretzels," he said and disappeared from her view.

Olivier sighed heavily and looked at the foam on top of her drink. She took Miles' advice and made some conversation with a stranger, but she still didn't think she was cut out for such things. She wasn't overly conversational, though that poor bartender didn't know that yet.

But she was getting a free drink later, so it was fine by her.

Time rolled about slowly as she nursed her second drink. She wanted to enjoy it, so she didn't gulp it down like she did with the first. She slowly smoked her cigar, looking through the window at the passers.

With the corner of her eyes, she noticed that quite close to her were four female customers, all of them wearing expensive clothes and jewellery. They were drinking wine, holding their glasses with panache in their small, gloved hands.

Olivier sharpened her hearing to catch what they were saying, because they looked like the kind who would be dumb enough to sound amusing after she'd drunk a bit more.

They were speaking with their high-pitched voices, laughing at their little jokes. Those were the type of women the Major General didn't like – the lovely wives with no brains but with a nice face on display. From what she has gathered, the red haired lady was at last getting married after they all have thought she would end up as an old maiden – though none of them could have been over twenty-five or at most, twenty-eight - and her already settled-down girlfriends were celebrating the happy event with her.

At first, their conversation didn't strike out, besides the occasional grumbling how their husbands – who were friends, probably - went out together because their wives weren't at home. After a few more sips of wine, which turned into glasses with time, their discussion deviated towards the more intimate aspects of married life.

"I'm so nervous about the wedding night," the future bride admitted to her friends, who all started to giggle around her.

"So was I when I married Frank," the one on her left said. "But he's been such a gentleman, and you know Richard is just the same."

The one with blonde hair, who seemed to be the oldest of them and married for the longest time, shook her head. "Yes, but men are always nice at first," she said sagely. "With time, it gets different and some men become... fidgety. You've heard what happened to poor Lisa, haven't you?"

"What do you mean?" the one whose hair was black and shiny asked with concern. She was gripping her glass tightly.

"Geraldine, you're so stupid," the blonde retorted. "You know what I mean, when they get tired of normal... intercourse and demand other things," she said, like she was revealing the greatest wisdom of their time. "When some start looking at less respectable individuals, outside their garden."

Olivier chocked on her drink. If that woman was as dull and uninteresting as she sounded, she didn't completely blame the husband if he started looking through the neighbours' bushes. But then again, that's what you get when you wed trophy wives with less passion than a log but possessing money-eating leeches in place of hands.

"I don't like those women who denigrate themselves like that, doing... other things," one of them said, a little embarrassed. "It's just so vulgar! That's not a thing a respectable wife should be doing."

"That's a thing for the prostitutes and other lowlifes," the future bride made disgusted.

"To think that some do it voluntarily - that is repulsive," the brunette said with a grimace. "I think it's a matter of education, too."

"But prostitutes? They do it because they have to," the blonde added.

"Only those with no status would work for a man's pleasure," the one with auburn hair interjected. "I don't know what I would have done if I had to work, that is not a living for a proper lady! But papa made sure my allowance is more than comfortable, he is so attentive with his girl," she giggled prettily. "Of course, Frankie doesn't need to know about that," she mouthed with complicity and the rest of the women joined her in her ringing laughter.

That was when Olivier decided she has had enough of listening to others' conversations. If a woman working honestly for her bread, no matter her profession - or a woman who was fucking her man sideways just because she wanted to, at that -, was considered some cast-off by the so-called high society ladies who probably didn't even know how to wipe their arses without a handmaid, then she didn't wonder why she has joined the army and lived in a fortification full of pricks.

Even her civilian sisters had their own professions and worked very hard. They belonged to an unquestionably wealthy family, but no Armstrong woman would ever stoop so low as to be assisted by their husbands or fathers without having to, Olivier thought with rage. Her mother, who came into the family by marrying their father, used to be a nurse before she'd retired and she has raised five children, still guiding the youngest of them – admittedly, with some help, but she has always been there for them. And, Gods forbid, their family didn't need the money from her mother's salary or retirement, but she liked knowing she had her own funds, no matter what. That's the way she's taught her four daughters and she has sworn she would strangle her only son with her own hands if he would ever marry some pampered princess who didn't know how to boil water or put the thread through the needle.

Olivier frowned. But if what those women said was true, then what she did in the privacy of her bedroom made her some sort of... what, a whore? That was a bit far-fetched, she thought, though it wasn't out of the question.

The four friends looked her way, apparently changing the subject to something concerning her. Probably they were commenting about what she was doing in a bar at that hour, smocking thick cigars and drinking by herself. Olivier didn't want to listen to whatever they had to say - she didn't entertain the idea of leaving the pub in a bloodbath.

Damn Miles and his stupid advices, she mentally complained as she crushed the cigar in the ashtray. She took what remained of her beer along with the bowl of pretzels and made her way straight to the nicely polished counter behind which her bartender was already pouring her another glass with a smile.

XXXXX

For the first time in ages, Olivier fell asleep during the train ride. She woke up with a start, feeling like she has just closed her eyes, and resumed looking out the window of her compartment.

She stood up with the friendly bartender later than she had originally planned. The man was apparently bored out of his mind with his job and wanted to open his own bar with a friend, but they needed to raise more money for that. They chatted amicably over a few drinks and by the end, Olivier was feeling so dizzy she didn't know how she'd gotten back to her room, but she could rightfully say she'd managed it somehow.

Her head didn't feel like exploding when she moved – not too much, at least - nor did she do anything stupid during the previous night, but the fatigue that has been piling up on her shoulders finally caught up with her and crashed down over her body like a wave against an unsuspecting fence. It appeared that she's slept almost throughout the entire travel and she didn't even know when that happened.

She was thankful that she had given herself a few days of leave from official business, because the first thing she did when she reached the fort was to land on her bed and sleep some more.

The following morning, shy knocking woke her up. She didn't understand how she could have possibly heard that faint noise when she hadn't heard the lively ruckus outside her walls, but there was definitely something more to it that it has made her get up. She hoped it was something worth her while, because she didn't know what she would do otherwise.

She opened the door and was instantly hit by the smell of coffee. She snatched the mug from the tray without looking at the one who was holding it and took a big gulp of dark brown liquid.

"It would be really easy to be poisoned if you do that without checking, you know," Miles said amusedly and raised the tray he was carrying to her face, signifying it hasn't been a genie that brought her coffee.

Olivier lifted her bleary eyes to the smiling officer, hoping that they looked menacing enough. They were definitely blood-shot, so at least she looked a bit rabid. "What do you want, Major?"

"Good morning to you too, Sir," he said, still smiling. "I brought you something to eat, you've missed lunch last night and today's breakfast."

"Damn, I could have died," she made sarcastically, but took the offered tray anyway. "Is there anything else?"

Miles looked a bit taken aback by her brusque tone. "Um, no?"

"Alright then," she said and closed the door in his face.

The Major blinked confused but then shook his head. "Mhm, great seeing you, too," he told to the door and headed back to the office.

XXXXX

As soon as she no longer felt, nor looked like a caveman, Armstrong started assessing the fort's doings in her absence. She was pleased to see that it was all working accordingly to her standards and that her men had acted like they had had their commander with them.

The inspection took most of the day and by the end of it, she was a little anxious to return to her usual business, but something held her back. Something that was resting menacingly on her tabletop.

She was shaped as a person of action, always on the move, and she felt out of place without her usual work. She took shifts with her soldiers and maintained the fort with them, and that was why she hated the end of the year in the military. She would have to do so much paperwork, she dreaded what dormant monster awaited her on her desk in the office.

While she was preparing herself to go to bed and finish her book, she realised that she probably wouldn't have that much work to do after all, because Miles definitely did some of her paperwork while she was away. He always overstepped his duties so they could finish quicker, usually overworking himself and looking worse for wear after that. He hated doing reports, however, he didn't shy away from helping his commander and she didn't know what she would have done if she didn't have such an efficient assistant. Buccaneer always made fun of the Major that he was married to his typewriter machine, but, at the end of each year, they took turns on making love to it so they wouldn't fall behind their daily chores.

Without thinking, she wrapped her coat around her shoulders and went down the familiar corridors leading to her second-in-command's quarters. She stopped in front of his door and frowned, bothered that she has gotten carried away when she could have seen him the following morning.

Though she was already there, so she knocked.

The door didn't open at first and she thought that it was better to leave. She couldn't explain why she has come there, because she was feeling too troubled to have any decent conversation with anyone. Miles would sniff her off immediately and start asking what was wrong. She didn't want to upset him or to be cheered up, either.

Just when she was about to leave, the door creaked open, the Ishbalan's head peeking out from behind the frame. "Oh, Sir, sorry for taking so long! I thought I've just imagined hearing the knocking, please come in," he said apologetically and stepped away from the entrance to make room for her.

Olivier entered and chanced a quick glance at her assistant, whose upper body was naked and had a towel around his shoulders. His face was wet and his hair was tied rather hastily in a messy thing that was neither a tail nor a bun.

"I'm sorry, but do you mind if I wipe this off?" he asked and pointed to his jaw, rimmed with something white that appeared to be some sort of shaving foam.

"I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"No bother, I was just finishing," Miles said and went back to the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him.

After locking the front door, Olivier darted to his travelling bag under the bed, forever unpacked, and rummaged through it. She didn't find what she wanted and went to his nightstand's drawer. She found in there what she was looking for and put it aside, next to the hidden bag. She followed his trail to the lavatory and leaned on the frame, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Since when do you shave in the evening?" she asked, watching him wash his face and then his sharp razor.

"I have that feeling tomorrow is going to start really early and I thought that it wouldn't do me any bad," he explained and put a towel on his face. Voluntarily, the woman went to the small cabinet by the door and took out a bottle of alcohol. "Here," she said and passed him the bottle.

"Thanks," he replied and rubbed the clear liquid over his cheeks.

Olivier regarded him critically as he patted his skin with the astringent substance. "Did you ever consider growing a full beard?" she asked, looking at his neatly trimmed arched sideburns and clean-shaven chin. She really hoped he didn't. Those white arches were fun to look at and she took great pleasure from trying to pluck them out with her fingers, hair by hair - especially when he was sleeping.

His red eyes shifted to her, suddenly very serious. "And look like some old geezer? I'm a bit too young for that, thank you very much."

"Tsk, men and their facial hair," Oliver said unimpressed. "At least those things on your face aren't as stupid as Buccaneer's whiskers or whatever those shits want to be," she mimicked the Captain's moustache.

"That's rude, you know, and I don't think they're called 'whiskers'," he pointed out and walked past her. He picked up a long-sleeved shirt and put it on, covering himself. "So, Major General," he said officially," how was your delegation?"

"Don't get me started, Major," she made sharply, rolling her eyes even if he couldn't see her from his position, his head facing opposite of her.

Olivier watched his back muscles contort as he slipped under the dark shirt. She padded to him, silently approaching him. She got behind him and put her hands on his broad shoulders.

"Mm, that bad?" Miles hummed and rotated his neck to see her. He looked down at her with a warm smile. "What's the matter, Olive?" he asked gently and turned around. He cupped her cheeks within his palms and tilted her head up to see her better.

The woman narrowed her electric eyes. She had known that would happen, that he would catch the scent of her wariness and fatigue, but damn it, she didn't want to answer to any questions at that moment. All she wanted was to feel, to breathe and live. It appeared her infuriating travel has awakened something in her.

She slapped his hand away and rose on her toes. She grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head lower to meet her mouth. She kissed him hard, her tongue already pushing at his lips and demanding for access.

Miles' hands shot up to her shoulders in an attempt to unglue her from his face, but she didn't deter in her meticulous assault. She tangled her fingers in his snowy locks and he lifted her up, deciding they could talk about whatever was bothering her a while later.

With her legs around his waist, he turned them around and propped her against the wall, pinning her body with his. He cupped her cheeks and deepened their kiss, biting her lips and prodding her mouth with fervour as one of his legs trailed up the surface behind her back to support her weight. He pressed his knee between her legs and her hold around his neck tightened, her nails leaving crescent-moon marks on his shoulder blades. She rubbed herself against his raised knee, the friction insufficient through all those layers of fabric.

"Put me down," she managed to get out between the mindless spar of their lips. Her legs disentangled from around his middle. Miles rummaged his fingers through her hair as he slowly lowered Olivier to the floor. Like she was leading a dance, she spun him around and his back hit the wall. She captured his mouth again and pressed her shorter frame to his body, feeling him hot and hard through their clothing.

Miles bent down to accommodate her height, but he was pushed back by a sure hand. He looked at the woman, her sly eyes glazed over with mischief and something that made his heart skip a beat. The blonde slid lower on his abdomen, her chin snaking over his heated body as she descended to her knees. She stared into his eyes so intently, so sure of herself when she bit the little flesh that wasn't covered by the obnoxious shirt that didn't allow her to see the beautiful skin of her man.

He shuddered when her teeth grazed over his hip bone. Her fingers hooked around his pants' hem and she poked around with her nose, getting closer to the visible tent that erected at the front. She pressed her cheek to his hardened length, her blue orbs determined to hold his red gaze.

Olivier leaned back on the ball of her feet, her hands gripping his thighs for support. She raised one pale eyebrow and pointed to his groin, almost innocently surprised to find him so interested in her. "My, my, what is in there struggling to get out and see the sun, I wonder?"

"I don't think it's anything that awfully wants to see any sun or moon right now," Miles made jokingly and she smirked from her position on the floor.

"Of course not, it's hell's arse freezing over outside," Olivier commented and blew a cold breath over the poking prick to stand up to her point. She pressed her lips to the elongated form and bit its base, eliciting a little snarl from the otherwise composed man.

One of her hands rubbed up his leg and then got past the hem of his bottoms, fishing for the confined cock and freeing it without lowering his pants. Olivier curved her back and caught the tip of his dick between her lips, her eyes fluttering shut when she found him weeping for her attention. She rolled her tongue dreamily, lapping at the clear fluid that was spilling around her teeth and accepting more of the length inside her mouth with each twist over the throbbing organ. She nibbled at the thick pulsing vein on the underside of his member, getting a strangled groan from him. He languidly played with a loose strand of her hair, a hand clasped over his mouth as the woman opened her eyes and her throat along with them, engulfing more of the thick shaft.

Miles' hands grabbed her hair in a desperate attempt to get her away from him, because he didn't know how it would all unreel if she kept up with her ministration. Her angry eyes stilled him and she blinked approvingly, all the while swallowing more of his cock and breathing haggardly. Olivier pushed him to the wall with the bottom of her palms and she deepened the rein of his member inside her mouth, then withdrew until only the tip rested against her plump lower lip. Her gaze shot up at him expectantly.

The fingers in her hair tightened their grip and held her head in place as his hips moved forward. His cock slid wetly between her opened lips, touching him so delicately and driving him to the point of madness. He backed off then thrust back, slowly at first, listening to the little excited whimpers he got from Olivier. Her eyes were closed tightly and her pink lips were spread wide, almost in an open smile. Miles, for all his weaknesses as a man, wasn't fond of using her like that, but he couldn't deny her craves nor was he daft to ignore them. He lay his head back and his eyes instinctively shut, his vague strokes getting bolder and stronger, penetrating further inside the moist cavern.

Olivier let out strangled moans and her respiration became irregular, all her innards twisting each time the blunt head of his cock brushed over the back of what was accessible of her throat. It was overwhelming and she felt lightheaded in that panting trance, her breath constantly cut out and her muscles clenching to swallow down more of his length.

The sensation was intense but rather short-lived, because the blonde found herself being pulled upwards by the hair before she got to get used to it. She opened her mouth – suddenly dry and slack – to say something, but Miles covered it with his own, kissing her deeply and fully.

He walked them backwards to the foot of the bed and turned them around, so he could sit down. He leaned on his back and took her with him, each of her legs around his waist as she straddled him. He slowly revealed their naked bodies, discarding their clothes and throwing them away anywhere they landed. He raised his hands and cupped her breasts, his red eyes sparkling at Olivier as he rolled her nipples between his fingers.

She regarded him carefully, trying to decipher his expression, which wasn't awfully fitting for their situation. She felt a little like a cat caught with its paw in the cream jar and she didn't quite get where that feeling was coming from.

Smirking with what could only be seen as mockery, the quarter Ishbalan let go of her generous chest and tilted his neck to the side, his nose pointing to the edge of the mattress. She must have looked rather puzzled at him, because he snorted and shook his head. "Don't insult my intelligence, Olivier," he said, but he didn't seem in any way displeased.

"What do you mean?" she asked and put her hands on each side of his head, her heavy bosoms brushing over his freshly shaved skin and then on his sideburns, tickling her and igniting her core.

Miles pressed his index finger to her nose and indicated to the underside of the bed. She frowned, getting his signs. "How did you-"

"Mirrors, Olivier. They help you see what's behind you," he explained smugly. "You can take that out, it's alright."

She protruded her lips with a raised brow and he nodded most nonchalantly. She swung from his lap and dangled with her head turned upside down, looking under the bed. She grabbed the black box she has stashed away and pulled it up to the light.

Miles inhaled a little too evidently, but neither made any comment on that. Olivier stood up on her knees and put the package on the nightstand, then looked again into his crimson pools. He regarded her with utmost trust and adulation, and she couldn't help the heat creeping up to her cheeks in a rosy blush.

They kissed again while Miles' hand was blindly searching for something in the deep drawer of the nightstand. He put a clear bottle of lubricant next to the pillow he was reclining on and Olivier took it almost instantly, uncapping it and holding it firmly.

Long and sinewy digits grounded their tips in her hips, making her shiver when they moved to spread her buttocks apart and slid between her drenched lower lips. They tested her slickness, rolling around her clenching hole and brushing over the base of her clitoris most feathery, his touch supple and calculated. She bucked into the heel of his palm, but he caught her just in time and he continued his slow torture, one finger entering her then leaving the depth to swim upwards.

Olivier grunted something unintelligible and grabbed his wrist, steadying it under her departed hips and she rubbed herself on his palm, the bit of movement sending sparks through her spine and an incredible amount of wetness to his knuckles. She shakily rose from her position on top of him and went lower. She positioned herself on her elbows, between his legs, and looked up at Miles, whose messy hair was falling into his curious eyes. She chuckled lightly and caressed his inner thigh. He smiled at her and opened his legs confidently.

Despite appearing brave, Miles wasn't by any means sure if he actually wanted to repeat that strange experience from the previous summer, when his beloved partner fucked him from behind and slurred all sorts of profanities in his ear, but as he felt her hand skidding over his stomach, down his abdomen to his groin, he wondered where that uncertainty has come from. He wasn't feeling uncertain at all right then, having his lover sucking on the base of his cock and biting at where it jutted out of his body.

Her mouth opened widely as she swallowed the hard length with ease. She turned the bottle of lubricant in her palm, clear liquid pouring from it. She roamed her hand lower, squeezing the heavy sack under his pulsing need and finally reaching the junction between his bottom cheeks. He spread his thighs farther apart and one of his legs slid to the floor with a thump.

A coated finger encircled the ring of muscles and dived inside, penetrating the tight canal. She pushed it to the knuckle and then pulled it back. She plunged back inside and curled her finger, eliciting a little groan and a jerk of hips. She smiled around the dick in her mouth and sucked it harsher, sometimes rolling it with her tongue or hallowing her cheeks.

Miles' fists twisted around the sheets, his unfocused eyes set somewhere on the ceiling. He felt the rush of cold air over his member and he looked down. Olivier's cerulean orbs beamed at him as she disappeared between his legs, and he'd nearly bent down to see what she was doing before his spine curled backwards and a chocked cry escaped his throat.

Olivier licked around his arse and finally lapped at the clenched circular muscle, tasting the ridiculous quantity of lubricant she has poured on her hand. She moved her tongue testily, listening with half a mind to the more than approving noises she was getting. She backed off to look at her work and she grinned, seeing his hardened cock jumping irregularly and the muscles in his thighs spasm. She stuck her tongue out and pushed it inside the tight ring, feeling the muscles ripple as she advanced. Her hair was roughly grabbed but she wasn't pulled away, more like she was urged to continue. She thrust her tongue inside vivaciously, struggling to delve in deeper.

When she could barely feel her tongue anymore from the prolonged extension of the muscle, the blonde took his cock in a hand and brought it to her lips, enveloping it with her walls. One of her well-coated fingers slid inside his entrance and she thrust it precisely, wriggling around when it was buried to the base. Miles groaned and bit on his lower lip, unable to contain any sound but struggling to do so.

She didn't pay any heed to his sharp intakes of air and added another finger, then a third inside him, curling them and hitting his prostrate with each push. Thrusting himself upwards to meet her mouth and downwards to capture her moving hand, Miles thrashed around on the pillow and grunted gutturally, feeling every single nerve in his body ignite and send too much electricity to contain.

Her mouth suddenly filled with hot bitter cum and she swallowed it down, grabbing his hips to steady him as they shot up and his arse clenched on her fingers from the intensity of the orgasm. Just as brusquely, the hands in her hair disappeared and she pushed herself up on the elbows to look at the wheezing man.

Miles stared at her, his mouth agape and face in utter shock. "Shit, I'm so sorry," he mumbled and waved his hand indecisively.

Olivier shook her head. She smacked their lips together openly, letting him taste his spent on her tongue, and she groaned when he grasped her locks and twisted them around his fist, deepening their kiss.

Their lips departed, leaving them both gasping. Olivier touched the corner of her mouth and collected the small droplet of cum that has somehow evaded and sucked on the tip of her finger, looking straight into Miles' eyes. He swallowed drily, blinking in disbelief.

She tapped the same finger on his chin with a lascivious grin. "You'll feel really sorry if you don't get hard really soon," she slurred and grabbed his spent cock, "because if you don't, I might give you rooftops duty in your bare arse until your dick freezes over and falls off."

For some reason, he believed that she would keep that particular promise, so he nodded dutifully. If his body would be kind enough to recuperate as fast as his mind was demanding, he thought he would be fine as wind.

The woman straddled his lap again, that time to reach for the nightstand and take the black box. She opened it and turned it upside down on the bed. She started fastening the buckles of the harness around her hips, then overly-lubricated the rubber dildo standing ostentatiously at its front. "Open wider," she instructed and smacked his right thigh. Miles sprawled his legs and she slid between them, comfortably nestling over his body and kneading his cock to spring it back to life.

The heat in his lower abdomen reignited with each of her caresses and he was slowly gaining an impressive erection. Olivier smirked approvingly - she was pretty sure she has scared his organs into behaving accordingly to her whims.

She slowly pushed the dildo inside the fairly stretched entrance to his body and, to her surprise, one leg hooked over her shoulder. She buried the rubber appendage to the hilt, her stomach pressing to the base of his steadily hardening member. She didn't waste time on accommodation and she moved inside the man's arse, guiding herself by his elaborated breath and inadvertent grunts.

Olivier bent down to kiss Miles and she felt his burning length press between their bodies. It was a new sensation and it was quite enticing. She curiously rubbed her belly on the velvety hardness. He groaned in her mouth and planted a hand at the base of her skull, his hips moving in time to meet her thrusts to which he was becoming addicted. They were so much more exquisite than the previous time and he wanted to feel it all, to experience everything.

Something in him snapped and he pushed her away from him, their bodies losing their intimate contact. She panicked for a moment that she has done something wrong, but he put an assuring palm on her chest and straddled her lap.

He steadied the dildo with one hand and grounded himself on it, his insides accepting the intrusion more than readily. Olivier blinked dumbly at him. Seeing the man over her while he pounded her was one glorious image, alright, but seeing the same man on top of her, his thick dick standing proud for attention and his heavy balls resting against her stomach as he was lowering himself on a cock strapped to her hips was another thing. That was beyond praise.

He swung his hips, making her gasp when the strings of the harness moved against her cunt. He wore a feral smirk on his dark face, his loose hair framing his jaw like a halo. "I'm quite the sight, hm?" he purred smugly and rose from her lap, leaving only the tip of the appendage inside, then descending again.

Olivier nodded, her voice gone along with her reasoning. Miles started riding her, his cock jumping and slapping itself on her abdomen with each jerk. He increased his pace and she put a hand on his hips, feeling the muscles work under the glistering skin. She watched in awe watched how the dildo was being buried inside him and how he reeled and roared with untamed pleasure. Her own body was craving for its release and she shuddered whenever he was pressing himself over her, but nothing mattered more to her than how gorgeous he looked right then, like he was almost glowing.

She grabbed one of his wrists and with their hands entwined, she started rubbing his dick to match their pace. Miles groaned and regarded her with dilated pupils, gasping each time she nailed his prostate.

She could swear she would lose herself if she continued to look at him. Miles lowered himself a few more times until his cock pulsed spasmodically in their locked palms and he came again, all over her abdomen and chest. Olivier's legs pressed together to overcome the wetness that gushed out at that sight, the man discharging his load on her front and catching his breath with a hand on her hip.

He unsteadily dismounted her and opened the straps of the harness. He thrust three fingers at once inside her cunt and she screamed. Their mouths connected and her body convulsed, another digit joining its pairs inside her quivering heat. He fingered her hard, his hand entering her depth and stroking her insides with determination.

She clenched around his curled fingers and her pleasure rushed out of her with an unarticulated shout, helpfully muffled by his mouth. Olivier's eyes widened comically and she was panting desperately, the hand continuing to move inside her until she didn't hear anything but the blood boiling in her ears.

Spent and shaky, she fell to Miles' side, landing on his outstretched arm. He didn't even feel her falling, absolutely dazed by what has transpired between them.

Olivier snuggled closer to the furnace of his flesh. She let out a breathy chortle, the only sound she could make for quite a while. "Are you sure you're into women, Major?" she finally asked him.

Miles looked down at her and pulled a golden strand of hair behind her ear. "I quite like you, Sir, so I'm not sure," he replied with a straight face, then burst into laughter.

She elbowed him and he kept on laughing, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating in her ears. She pressed her head over his heart and listened to the organ's beat in tandem with the soulful laughter. She turned her head and brushed her lips over the rising and falling chest, then pressed her forehead to it. Miles' fingers slowly stroked her hair and he tenderly kissed the crown of her head.

Olivier gazed up at him and smiled. He returned her smile and studied her face, so radiant and beautiful, but it was impossible not to notice the drying mess on her upper body that was starting drip on the covered mattress. He coughed, trying to prevent the terrible flush slithering up his neck. "Let me get you something to clean that off," he mumbled and made to rise off the bed. Before he managed that, his aching knees gave out and his leg entangled in the loose sheets, and he dully fell to the floor, just like in a poorly-acted play.

"Um," Olivier started, but she wasn't sure how to continue that. Miles raised his head from the little carpet by the bed and thumped it back. "What was that supposed to be?"

He planted his elbows on the floor and slowly rose to his feet, still wobbly on his over-exerted knees. "I've got this," he said lightly and padded to the bathroom. He returned with a towel and threw it at Olivier's face.

She caught it and put it aside without using it. "Come back," she instructed and outstretched her arm to him. Miles walked to the bed and lay next to her on his usual spot, closer to the edge. Olivier absently rolled a finger over the thick liquid on her stomach, smearing it across her belly and then tasting it with her tongue.

She kneeled on the mattress and sat on the awestruck officer's lap. Still warm cum slid down her breasts, over what was left of it on her stomach and lower, toward the crevices of her hips. "You know what amuses me the most at you, Farid?" she said, using his given name for a touch of intimacy. "You can be absolutely adventurous one moment and then turn into the most prude man that has ever walked the Earth."

"I'm just balancing the odds," he shrugged. He raised his arms to her waist and stroked a dark scar that marred her skin. "What's the matter, my queen, hmm? What has upset you?"

"Nothing," she retorted and bowed over him. She caught the elastic that was holding his hair and untied it. She ran her fingers through his white locks, disentangling them and allowing them to fall on his shoulders.

"Try that again."

Olivier sighed and plopped to her side. Miles put his weight on his elbow and watched her wipe herself off with the towel. She was still not saying anything. "Olivier, my love, did something happen while you were away?"

"What makes you say that?"

He shook his head. He knew her approach on feelings – shoot them in the head and bury them deep. He knew her too well to let her go. "Not only that you didn't say a word to me since you've came here, besides when you've slammed the door into my face, but the moment I asked you about your delegation, you've pretty much jumped me."

"Am I hearing a complaint in there?"

"Ah, no, evidently not," he exculpated himself. "I'm not made of bricks, I'm not about to start refusing you just because the weather's not fine or I'm seeing things. I've got an overactive imagination, after all, it shouldn't be trusted."

She snorted. Mhm, overactive imagination indeed. "This can get a bit like a brick at times," she teased and brushed the tips of her fingers over his cock.

"Beside the point."

She breathed in deeply. "It was fine, kind of boring but fine, though on the last night, when it had mercifully stopped raining, I went out for a bit. It was all good, I met a bartender who was overly-talkative and we small-talked until the wee hours of the morning." She stopped abruptly and looked at him. "That doesn't bother you, right?"

Miles' eyebrow shot up. He didn't expect that question. "Um..., no? Why should it bother me? I'm always chatting with people, why shouldn't you? It's just surprising to hear you've interacted with someone without threatening them, that's all." He pensively rolled his tongue inside his mouth. "That's actually new. Are you sure you're alright?" he asked with concern.

"It surprised me too! But that's not it. While I was sitting at the table and drinking my beer most peacefully, I listened to some ladies talking. They made me... think," she admitted and started wondering if something was in fact wrong with her.

"Don't tell me you've been impressed by what some random women were babbling about."

"I told you I was tired, okay? It just got to me."

"What was that about?" he asked. He caught the curly end of one of her longer locks and rolled it around his finger.

"Miles, tell me honestly – do you think I'm easy?"

He blinked dumbly at her. "Easy? No, I think you're the most difficult person I know, but I've gotten used to that. It has become quite endearing, actually," he grinned.

She slapped him. "I didn't mean character-wise, I meant if you think I'm the kind who is willing to do anything in bed. That type of easy."

"Olivier," he interrupted her most seriously, "I've just rode a rubber dick on top of you, I don't know how objective my opinion would be." He stroked her hair and, finally, realisation struck him. "Are you perhaps... uncomfortable with what we did? Or do? I've got no problem if you don't want to do anything anymore, I'm happy if you only let me hold you or just talk to you or-"

"Ney, you're not getting out of this that easily," she said and motioned between them. "But they were talking about how only prostitutes and easy women do 'other things'. I can only guess what they were talking about, I stopped listening from that point."

Miles chuckled mirthfully. "No one's paying anyone for anything and I wouldn't bestow you upon my worst enemies, if that's what you're talking about. Did you seriously listen to some ladies talking about sex in a bar?"

"They called it 'intercourse', mind your language."

"Why, that's the proper word, but now that you've said it, I think I've made my case. Your youngest sister calls it 'fucking' and she's got the shiest eyes I've ever seen. Not to mention she's barely of age and looks like a doll." That was true, Katherine was the most suave and lady-like of the four Armstrong sisters, but whenever Miles came to Central accompanying his commander with business or simply on a permission, she snatched him and they talked of such rubbish that could easily rival to anything her oldest sister did when the mood struck her. "Honestly, Olivier, why did it affect you so much?"

She tilted her head in consideration. "I was listening to them and I was actually wondering if they'd suck a dick using a fork - they were all fancy and dressed up nicely -, but apparently that's too degrading for a proper lady."

He cringed. "A fork? That sounds painful."

"You know what I mean. Gods, those women were stupid, they don't know what they're talking about," she made angrily and looked up at him. She kissed him deeply, her tongue darting inside his unprepared mouth and exploring him passionately. When she let go of him, her pupils were blown wide and her breath was heavy. "You know what? Screw those pampered ladies who depend on their honourable husbands to pay their expenses - I've got money, I've got status and I can fuck my man however the hell I want."

"You tell them, sister," Miles encouraged her gleefully and laughed. She glared at him. "Sod off, I'm turning the lights out."

He raised his hand to stop her. "Let me-"

"You'll fall off the bed again, stay the hell down," she said and jumped out of the bed. It proved to be the wrong move, because she wasn't any much steadier on her feet than Miles. She padded to the wall switch and closed the ceiling illumination, the only light flickering in the room being the one of the feeble lamp on the nightstand. The pale light ghosted over Miles' reclining body and traced his hard body, from his broad shoulders to his slightly narrower hips and down to his long feet, all peppered with faint marks of his rocky military carrier. He was beaming at her and waiting for her to return by his side so they could finally sleep.

Olivier took another moment to explore his body with her eyes, then joined him under the cover. He hugged her tightly and she snuggled close to his chest, his warm skin making her feel safe between his arms. He stretched to the nightstand and extinguished the lamp, surrounding them with comfortable darkness. They said their goodnights and they closed their eyes, lulled into slumber by the heat of their chests pressing together.

The last thought she had before she fell asleep was that, if being 'improper' in the eyes of the 'high society' lead them to such sweet little moments, she didn't mind going down on her knees and enjoying herself with the one she would move the mountains for and she knew Miles was thinking just the same. None of them searched the approval of anyone and they didn't have to justify what they did together in the privacy of their quarters.

After all, no one needed to know that part of their story.

* * *

A/N: Ta-da, that was that! Thank you very much for reading and please, leave a review/follow/favourite! Thank you!

If you want to see what else I've written, please check out my profile.

And, until next time, bye, bye!


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